


Burning

by Apetslife



Series: Heat [1]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-03
Updated: 2012-02-03
Packaged: 2017-10-30 13:31:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/332263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apetslife/pseuds/Apetslife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Xander and Oz, and memory.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burning

Xander could feel the burning sunlight filtering into his hair,  
making it almost too hot to touch, and had a flaring moment of  
jealousy for all blonds. And all people in San Francisco. He'd  
never been there, but he'd heard they had fog. It sounded like a  
pretty happenin' place, too, many clubs and concerts and parks and  
art. And Chinatown. He'd like to visit Chinatown, get away from the  
oppressive and aggressive all-white all-suburban lifestyle that was  
everything he's ever known. There'd been a black kid in his ninth  
grade English class, he remembered, but the family had left town soon  
after for more multicultural pastures.

No, all he had left to illustrate the joys of diversity was the  
occasional demon, a whole lotta vampires, and the odd misfit freak  
who managed to stray in and stay. Like Oz. Oz with his magenta hair  
and his black nailpolish. Oz with his tattoos and his necklaces and  
his utter disregard for social norms or conventions. Oz with his  
unexpected mouth. Oz with his Willow.

He needed to find Oz.

Willow, pulling him aside after French class, glowing. 

"Xander!" An excited whisper, and he smiled indulgently. This was  
his girl, his sister, his beloved, his best friend. His best  
EVERYTHING. 

"Xander, we...did it!"

"What?"

"Oz and me! We got together! And it was...oh, Xander, I know I  
shouldn't kiss and tell, but this was...wow."

"Really." His mouth felt dry, his arms were straight and stiff at  
his sides. He didn't know if he could bend them if he tried. He  
wondered if he was frozen. "So, things are happy in Oz and Willow  
land?"

"Oh yes. He's...he's been really good about everything, you know?  
And it seemed like the right time. Xander...are you ok? You're  
looking kinda...funny."

He managed to dredge up a fairly credible smile, he thought. 

"Oh, yeah, I'm fine. Happy for you, Wills, you know that. It's just  
that...y'know, Buffy has Angel, and you have Oz now...Just a little  
green-eyed monster."

"Oh, Xander, I'm sorry, I didn't think..." Distressed green eyes  
peering up at him, worrying about him, and he had no RIGHT to make  
this all about him...

"C'mon. I'll buy the celebratory ice cream. And you can tell  
everything except logistics and measurements, because ew, and be sure  
to leave in all the mushy stuff."

And she had smiled again, glowing and bouncing again, and they had  
eaten ice cream and he'd found out that Oz wasn't ALWAYS laconic.  
And he was slotted right back in as 'Best Friend,' no more, no less,  
her happiness and years of habit overcoming any lingering  
awkwardness. It was like she'd never wanted HIM. 

So.

He needeed to find Oz.

*********************************

There was somthing intensely calming about hot, bright late  
afternoons, and Oz was soaking in the peace like it was water. It  
was as if the world melted like wax under this much sun, running and  
flowing softer and smoother and slower than normal. Humming cicadas  
whispering, with the natural ventriloquism that made their song seem  
on top of your skin, vibrating you, and at the same time miles away.  
Cars passing the park with a distant hhhHHMMM-WHOoooosh, almost  
hypnotic. Children shrieking, high and sweet, and suddenly,  
punctuating the silence-that-wasn't-really. And leaves doing their  
dance in a high-up wind, pulling shadows across his face and again  
and again. He was sprawled on his back, and he could feel the earth  
growing. And in this small hidden place behind the park buildings,  
he knew that no one was watching him smile.

He'd known it would be different, making out with girls. With  
Willow. Softer, maybe. But she'd been fierce and unexpectedly  
strong, desperate to prove that she was his, and he'd let her take  
the lead. Easier that way anyway, no need for awkward explanations  
of why his hand lingered there instead of THERE, or why his fingers  
on her face had trembled with love AND surprise. It was a conundrum,  
he thought. Desire men, love a woman. And the love had sparked  
desire, all unexpected, and now...Oz let out a deep sigh of  
contentment. He wasn't sure how he felt about rejoining the cultural  
mainstream, but he knew it was all about who you loved. Had always  
known.

He could feel feet approaching, heavy steps thudding into the ground  
under his shoulders. Opened disinterested eyes, and saw...Xander.  
Who was sweating and scowling and decidedly not peaceful. A boy's  
confused face on a broad-shouldered man's body.

"Xander."

"Oz." And he folded ungracefully into a cross-legged seat, by Oz'  
waist. Oz wondered how he'd found him, but wasn't interested enough  
to expend words asking. Xander sighed, as he just kept looking at  
him.

"Willow told me."

"Ah."

"Is that all you're gonna say?" Xander was picking at the grass with  
his fingers, nervously.

"Probably." Oz closed his eyes again, tried to feel the cicadas.

"Oz, Jesus. You're screwing around with my best friend, here."

Oz felt that the "And?" was adequately expressed by one lifted brow.

"Well...she's, she's younger than you. And fragile." Oz's lips  
curled up. "And I don't want you messing with her." Finished firmly.

"I'm not messing."

"Still. You're not right for her. You're too...quiet. And band-  
oriented. And gay."

Oz's eyes shot open at that last, and he gave Xander a curious look.  
Xander was looking anywhere but at him, but answered the unspoken  
question.

"Cordelia told me that, um, some of the Dingoes told her."

Devon. What a complete idiot that boy could be. 

"It appears that she was misinformed."

"Oz, look, I barely know you at all, but Will's like my sister, and  
she's my best friend, and I want you to back off."

Oz felt an unfamiliar trickle of anger in his stomach, clenching it  
just a bit. He'd seen the way Willow looked at Xander. He'd have to  
had been blind to miss it. Dog-in-the-manger, I don't want her but  
you can't have her.

"Xander, you have nothing to say about it." There. Hopefully he'd  
just go away now.

"Oz, I'll MAKE you." And the brown hands were clenched in fists, and  
Xander was leaning forward, whole body tense, and there was a not-  
confused look of anger on his face. Oz sat up, suddenly, startling  
him backwards.

"Xander, this is stupid. You're not dating her. Back off."

"NO." Xander's hand was suddenly fisted in his t-shirt, shaking him  
a little. "YOU back off!" Oz twisted out of his grip, feeling that  
anger in his gut get colder, harder, and stood up. Face-to-chest  
with Xander when he did the same, staring up at him, frozen for just  
a second in disbelief that this was happening. And then Xander  
shoved him back, and he stumbled, regained his footing, growled, and  
hit Xander in the stomach, HARD, with a shoulder. They went down in  
a tangle, Xander rolling and trying to get on top, overcome by the  
unexpected strength in Oz's small frame, punching frantically at  
every body part he could hit. Oz's hand on his jaw, pushing his head  
back, and a solid hit to the stomach that made his breath slam out of  
his lungs. Oz fended off his hands easily, landed another strike to  
his side that curled him up, one more that made him gag, and suck for  
oxygen, and lay still, Oz still on top of him. There was blood  
coming from a split lip, from an elbow, he thought, and he could feel  
Oz staring down at him. Felt smaller and more miserable than he ever  
had before.

They lay there in silence for a moment. The children were still  
playing on the playground somewhere, and cars were still passing, but  
Oz could only really hear Xander's agonized gasps, feel the heaving  
chest that was pressed to his own. Sat still for another second,  
delighting in the feel of a hard body against his own, because really  
how many more chances was he going to have? 

"Did I hurt you?" One finger came up and turned Xander to face him.

"No." Small, sulky voice, and Oz smiled. He really did like Xander,  
mostly. When he wasn't being an utter tool. Now that he'd won the  
testosterone battle, he was willing to be generous. 

"I'm sorry I hit you so hard." Xander pushed at him, not very hard,  
he noticed, and then lay back with a sigh. He'd gotten his breath  
back, and rolled his eyes.

"Guys used to hit me harder than that for lunch money. Sorry, Oz. I  
know it's not my business, but...I worry about her, you know."

"I know. You're bleeding. Here." Oz yanked his t-shirt over his  
head, wiggling a little, and folded it up to press to Xander's lip.

Xander felt his eyes go wide. Here he was, humiliated yet again, and  
there were leaves down the back of his shirt and dirt on his face and  
a half-naked boy sprawled all over him, dabbing at his mouth with a  
shirt. This was too much. He smiled. Smirked. Started to giggle.  
Saw the answering curve of Oz's lips, and gave in and howled. Oz  
kept the shirt to his face the whole time, chuckling himself. 

When he'd finally subsided and lay gasping again, Oz pulled it away,  
looked at the blood still trickling down Xander's chin, and frowned. 

"You might need stitches. Sorry about that, man."

"Nah." Xander shook his head, looked up at him with a little  
smile. "I'm a fast healer. It'll be fine."

Oz stared. Just stared. Huge brown eyes, long black lashes, strong  
jaw and sweet swollen mouth. Jesus, get a grip, man. He needed to  
get up, NOW. But maybe...one last taste...

He bent, whispering "yeah," pressed his lips to Xander's, hoped the  
boy would take it as just a final sign of victory and not something  
more.

Xander was paralyzed again, and getting tired of the feeling. There  
was a warm, wide mouth on his own, though, he could tell, and a naked  
chest pressed against him. Cordelia-trained instincts kicked in  
then, and his arms curled up around that body before his mind could  
scream a warning. Wait, no! But Oz had apparently taken his  
movement as conscious permission, because the kiss just deepened. A  
delicate tongue flicked at his bruised mouth, and he opened it to  
speak, and the tongue moved in. Set up shop. Investigated the area,  
and introduced itself to the inhabitants. Xander found himself  
tasting sweetness and Oz, and tangling his tongue with the other that  
was in his mouth, chasing after when it tried to withdraw. The skin  
under his hands, on Oz's back, was a thousand times softer than  
Cordelia's moisturizer could ever achieve. Like soft white silk.  
Like baby skin. He ran his fingers over it, over the long curve of  
ribs and surprising muscle, wanting more, ignoring the wailing in his  
mind that was chanting of vice and sin and wrong and bad. This felt  
good. Better than good.

Oz could barely think through the shock. His hands were tangled in  
dark hair still burning-hot from the sun--had it only been a few  
minutes?--and his mouth was being just devoured by Xander's, and  
there were hands on his back, running from shoulder to waist and back  
up. He was pressed full-body to Xander, though the differences in  
their height meant that his hips, now doing a slow steady push to  
match the one in his mouth, was rocking against Xander's belly. He  
could feel the hardness on his thigh, though. Very hard. This could  
not be happening. Perhaps a dream, then, though he couldn't remember  
Xander gracing any of his more erotic nighttime fantasies. He could  
never think properly in dreams, his thoughts always skittering  
shallowly like they were doing now. So. Concentrate.  
Antidisestablishmentarianism was the longest word in the English  
language. Graham crackers were invented to reduce the human sex  
drive. People started calling roaches (the smoked kind) roaches  
because someone thought they looked like the fish. Nope, his trivia  
was still there. So. Not dreaming.

A moan pulled him back. Xander had pushed up into his thigh, and his  
whole body was trembling now, just from the touch. Oz marveled.  
Slipped his hands under the t-shirt to touch sweat-slick skin,  
lightly furred, muscles long and sliding under his palms. Swimming  
was agreeing with Xander, it seemed. He cupped the swell of ribcage  
under Xander's arms, letting his thumbs curve in to stroke small,  
hard nipples, and got another moan.

Xander felt small hands running up his sides, and a tongue still  
working in his mouth, and hardness against his belly, and this was so  
much more intense than groping with Cordelia in the shelter of secret  
dark, so much hotter and fiercer and he rolled Oz over suddenly,  
yanking his shirt over his head, desperate for more contact. Fell  
back down, not thinking, refusing to, and nibbled at the parted lips,  
the line of jaw, pale slim throat. Pulled himself up a bit so that  
his hips fell into the V of Oz's legs, and ah. Denim on denim, hard  
on hard. He felt every little ridge in the fabric, every tine of  
zippers and every bump of button, and Oz was still burning him. He  
had no idea what he was doing. He opened his eyes. "Oz?"

Oz, alert to tone, stilled his roaming hands, the hands that were  
stroking peach-soft skin and hard bone and muscle, and looked up. He  
knew his eyes were very green, they always were when he was this  
turned on. Xander was turning him on, oh yes. And Xander's eyes  
were almost all pupil, black on black, but there was no revulsion  
there, and he relaxed. Just a little. Looked a question.

"I don't know what to do next." Oz just smiled at him and reached  
for his zipper, down between their bodies. This was it. The moment  
of truth. And...no. He caught Oz's fingers with his own in a  
convulsive grab, and rolled off him, panting with terror and desire.  
Too much for him to handle, and he was still intensely aware of that  
pale smooth sleek body so close to his, very still now.

Oz ran a hand over his face, breathed deep, and sat up. Reached for  
his bloodied t-shirt, and pulled it over his head, and just sat. Not  
looking at Xander, or anything in particular. Letting the heat of  
the dappled sunlight register again, letting the world back in to  
sing to him.

"I'm sorry..." rough voice, and Xander hadn't moved yet.

"No." He shook his head. 

"It's just that I...that you...Willow."

"Yeah."

Xander scrabbled for his shirt, hauled it on, stood up almost  
convulsively. Didn't look at Oz.

"Gotta go."

"OK."

And he turned and ran, out of the secret hiding place that he'd known  
about because he WATCHED Oz. Back out into the sunlight. And if,  
later, Oz didn't speak to Xander, it was not remarked upon. Oz so  
rarely spoke anyway. And if Xander avoided Oz, it was  
understandable, especially now that he was occupied with Cordelia and  
everyone was caught up in THAT revelation.

But long after, when Xander kissed Willow, desperate for a taste of  
something he was missing, he didn't feel anything. No matter how  
many times he tried.


End file.
